Hand Motions
by quivershiver
Summary: Dave is an art instructor, Karkat can't paint, and Nepeta is just along for the ride. Unrequited Dave/Karkat and brief, established Dave/John. Human AU. God, this is a short one.


Your name is Karkat Vantas and you are absolutely fucking entranced by a pair of hands. This weekend was one that was relatively free, so when your friend Nepeta Leijon asked if you wanted to go to a painting.. thing, you accepted. It wasn't like you had anything to do, and that kind of art bullshit was pretty cool. You liked drawing despite not being too good at it. She'd been sitting on the stool adjacent to yours in front of your clean canvases when she let out a small giggle and poked your shoulder. "Look, the instructor's here! Don't you think he's cute? Totally not my type but for fuck's sake, look at his ass," she swoons. You're about to point out that you're not going to start publicly drooling over some art major, but then you actually see him. He's wearing some raggedy red T-shirt with a pixelated disc, dark faded jeans, aviators, and red Converse. "Yo, thanks for coming here tonight, we're gonna paint the whole moon on water thing," the guy says, and holds up a paper with what the painting is going to look like. He ties on a paint-covered smock on it and-_ wait, is that a tiny little dick in the corner? _The instructor runs a hand through sandy blonde hair and pulls a stool up to his own canvas. "So anyways, I'm Dave, and I'm your instructor. Let's just jump right into this shit, yeah? Pick up your color palette and scoop a blob of blue, put it off to the side. Now just pick up a tiny little bit of black and mix that in."  
You follow the instructions but realize that _shit_, you've already messed up the way the painting starts off. It's meant to be a rectangle at the very top portion, but no, instead you make a square that consequently takes up half of the damn canvas. You curse under your breath, your hand shooting in the air in frustration. It takes a moment, but he walks over to you. "Yeah, bedhead?" he smirks, and you refrain from socking him in the face.  
"I kind of fucked up."  
"Yeah, I can see that. Lemme get you a new canvas."  
He returns a moment later with a new one and switches the other out. Instead of retreating to the platform, Dave places his palm on the back of yours and moves it to pick up your brush. "Let the master show you how it's done," he murmurs, lips by your ear. His callous hand sweeps your hand back and forth. The canvas shows brush strokes of a lovely shade of blue, done in perfectly straight lines that you could never hope to achieve. You think that wow, you might just let him paint the entire thing, but his hold on you leaves. The blonde instructor is almost back on the platform again.  
You move quite blindly through the rest of the session, messing up on purpose now to get him back over. Dave doesn't seem to mind. Nepeta catches on quickly, and tells you that you should paint a dick on. When you make a face and say, "Fuck, no! I'm not going to ruin the whole painting," she goes ahead and does it for you. "Nepeta!" you growl, as she raises one hand up high in the air. "Daaaaave," your so-called friend sing-songs. He, unsurprisingly, smirks and strolls back to your stool. You scowl and point to a tiny olive green dick in the lower left of the painting, glancing between your giggling friend and your artistic instructor. "Mm, tasteful," he hums, upper chest pressed lightly to your back. "I think we should just keep it. Your cute lil' girlfriend over there seems to know what's up."  
"No, we are _not_ dating." The words rush to escape the confines of your lips. Nepeta giggles louder when Dave's smirk seems to widen just a tad, almost imperceptibly. "So, we gettin' rid of the phallus or no?" the blonde asks you, leaning against you more and wrapping one of his arms around you to rest it on your shoulder. "I mean.. what do you think?" you look at the tiny genitalia, not really wanting it on the painting that was supposed to be serious. If Dave likes it, however, a compromise can be made. You look over your shoulder again and he just nods a yes. Well, that settles that; the penis stays. Dave fucking saunters off to deliver the last instruction, which would be the moon's shadows and craters. You watch his hand motions from your seat. They flick and twist and glide and you're left to wonder what else he's good at. Can he draw people? What about animals? Is his art style cartoony, realistic, or something else altogether? You're completely hypnotized by those nimble hands. You would definitely like to know how those hands would look, move, when wrapped around your dick. Christ, if this painting session doesn't end soon, you're going to have to excuse yourself.  
You decide then that Dave is an asshole and that you loathe him (and the effect he has on you).

Dave Strider flirts with the blue-eyed boy with messy hair, so you decide that you loathe him, too. You detest both of them with a fiery passion that could eat up the entire universe and shit it out in one sitting. The boy laughs, bubbling and energetic, and the way that Dave seems to smile a bit more makes you furious. Nepeta and you are still cleaning up your stuff, while most everyone else has departed. "John" obviously has nothing better to do than flirt it up with the "blonde eye-candy" (as Nepeta so rightly puts it). You watch them laugh and giggle some more as you put your brushes in the cup, not bothering to hide your stares. Eavesdropping is both a blessing and a curse. A blessing to know that Dave passionately hates John's movies. A curse because the next thing out of John's mouth is "Are you ready for the movie?" and because Dave replies with "As long as I can mack on you the whole time."  
So they're a thing. Freckled Asshat is hot and taken by the King of Movies That You Unfortunately Love. Is there a word that's worse than 'loathe'? You will make one up if you have to and use it only when describing John. "I hope that fucker dies," you hiss to Nepeta, only shooting daggers from the corners of your eyes now. You have found out quite e-fucking-nough, thanks so much. "He probably has his hands all over _John's_ miniscule dick and not mine."  
"Karkat, go home and watch some porn. Get off and chill out. You just met him and your acting as if someone just stole him away from a two year relationship."  
"YEAH WELL."  
She's giving you a look, and so you shoot her one right back. "Give me a break; you and I both know that he's hot as hell," you huff. The smirk she rerurns is very sly and catlike.  
"Did you bring me to this just to tease me?"  
"No, of course not! I would never do that, Karkat! I can't believe you would accuse me of such a thing."  
God,_ the fucking nerve. _Someday you're gonna do something about the never-ending verbal irony that your friends seem to use. When you look up at Dave again, you find him looking right back. His head is tilted in your direction with a raised eyebrow while John continues blabbering. You very quickly look away to Nepeta again, who is positively glowing with complacency. "Oh ha ha. If smug was a motorcycle, it just jumped over a fucking canyon. The crowd goes wild with dismay and then commits mass suicide." You want to break something.


End file.
